Supernatural Fanfiction "A Secret's Gift and Fire"

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter One: The End of the Beginning
Eyes. Sinister, impossibly black eyes. And they were staring right at me, Marley Walker wondered, sliding a small brass key into her front door's deadbolt. It could have just been an illusion, right? A trick of her imagination? It's late, after all, and I'm tired. Over her shoulder, she took a quick glance at the quickly darkening, but empty, street, and shrugged into her home, shutting the door promptly behind her, locking it again. Marley inhaled, realizing that she had been holding her breath since she had passed the menacing man on the street only a moment ago. She had never seen this man before, not even once, which is odd, because she always took the same route back to her house from the gym. Every day. At seven p.m. It seemed odd that their paths had never crossed before that short second of eye contact.

The stare he'd laid on her made her feel strangely insecure and paranoid, which wasn't a range of emotions Marley was often met with. Now looking around the interior of her modern-esque two-story home, her heart returned to a normal pace and the stress of that encounter faded away, seeming to peel and slip off like an oily second skin. Come on, Marley, they were probably just contacts, she tried to reassure herself, but it was to no avail. She knew the man's, or what had appeared to be a man's, murky gaze was no farce. That was the upside to her ability. Marley could know any piece of information that she wanted, as long as it was or had been, at her simple whim. Unless, of course, it dealt specifically with the supernatural. Ironic, right?

This inborn ability to absorb and understand knowledge without as much as a snap of the finger had began a couple of months ago, after her twenty-second birthday. This instant grasp of everything but the supernatural also made Marley amazingly proficient at anything she tried, so at first, the power seemed like a blessing, but over the months, it had only made life ever-increasingly boring.

Boring, that is, until Marley's brother, Cameron, "invited himself" to move into her home after he'd been dumped by his girlfriend of four years because of his addiction to what he referred to as "escorts". That incident occurred a week before this day, and Marley let Cam do as he pleased. He kept well enough to himself at first, considering he didn't have a job or any friends in Jefferson City. She almost pitied him, but found herself lacking in the sympathy department whenever she had to clean up his messes or drag him up the stairs into bed after each of his weekly nights at the bar. Looking away from the clock she'd been staring at while in her train of thought, Marley noticed that Cam wasn't, for once, downstairs drinking, though the kitchen light was still on. This concerned her immediately, and before even thinking of the possibilities, the ability-run portion of Marley's brain told her what she had feared. Cam's dead, upstairs, it informed her, in a stoic version of her own thought voice. How it had happened was fogged behind a familiar veil, the same that prohibited her from accessing any knowledge of the supernatural, which meant that the man she'd seen on the street probably had something to do with this, granted he was what she thought he was.

Throwing her keys onto the side table in the entryway where she stood, Marley quickly bolted up the stairs and ran into the guest room, throwing on the lights as she entered. Nothing about the room seemed amiss, save for maybe the open window, which allowed an appropriately icy breeze to snake into the room, catching her skin and sending waves of goose bumps to the surface. Though unnecessary, she tiptoed to the edge of Cam's bed, then Marley whispered his name sadly and sighed. She placed her hand lightly on his body, which was covered still by the sheet, and felt no warmth. A bad taste filled her mouth at the moment of contact, a taste like iron, like blood, and an image of the man's black eyes filled her mind for a split second, then left as soon as it had come, taking with it the foul taste staining her tongue.

Marley relaxed after a moment and began to pull the covers from her brother. His now very pale and very clammy face was revealed, boasting open, bloodshot eyes and a clenched jaw. Curious yet tinged with lingering apprehension, she continued to peel away the sheet, and knew what she was looking for when his bare chest was uncovered, showing five circular marks on his chest. They were brownish, like burn marks, and their arrangement resembled that of fingers that had been pushed against him forcefully. The skin within those spots seemed dry and crusty, yet delicate like old yellowed paper. Marley's palm flew to her mouth and her eyes narrowed in disbelief. Cameron, her brother who she'd seen just this morning shoveling heaps of cereal into his mouth, was now gone, just like that. Though she'd known that he'd passed before looking at him, the sight of her only sibling, her only family left in the world, her anchor, her normalcy, now gone, created a cold feeling in Marley's stomach, a dark, swirling pit that raged quietly like churning black seas before a storm. Tears welled up in her eyes, and they spilled over, a small cry escaped Marley’s lips and she knelt next to the bed, firmly planting her face between her crossed arms on the sheets. Sobs shook her frame and she grieved for the loss of the last of her family, the brother who’d loved her, supported her, saved her from a sin-filled house so long ago. She wished she’d been more forgiving of his mistakes, that she’d listened to him more when they’d spoken; she wished she’d done more for him in his final hours. But this wasn’t any natural death; it was something she could avenge, something she could make right.

Flashbacks of times spent with an old friend flew through Marley's mind along with a million other thoughts, but through all the commotion, she still managed to calmly call 9-1-1 and inform the authorities of the situation, of course leaving out the part about the man with the black eyes and all the superfluous information not to be dealt with by the police. Really, though, she just wanted Cam's body away and at rest, as she'd seen what could happen if he wasn't to be taken care of properly.

She returned downstairs and turned on the porch light in preparation for the officers that had been dispatched. The taste of blood returned to Marley's mouth and she winced, seeing the black eyes again, and the apathetic tone of her ability spoke in her mind. It left a note on the kitchen counter by the sink. Without looking at the note or even walking into the kitchen, she knew what it said: "Found you. He was just a bonus." What evil words... I’ll kill him, Cam, for you… she thought, feeling itching tears finally coming on and the shock slipping away. The thought of that malicious creature having penetrated into her home sent an all-new wave of shivers down Marley's spine. Why me? Why now? I thought this was behind me. Her mind turned back to the black eyes, and she remembered. The fire.

So, she'd done some delving into her history, discovering that it wasn't only she and Cam who had survived the same kind of house fire. In fact, she'd found a few different articles regarding the same tragedy in different states. Since she lived in Lawrence, and one of the articles concerned a very similar fire in that area, Marley decided she'd first investigate that incident, since it was so close and wouldn’t interfere with her studies, as if she would have to study anyway. She had come up with the plan, after beginning more hands-on research, that if anybody had questions, she could always just use the cover that she was looking for a new house to move into by herself since she was in college. So, on Spring Break, Marley drove into town, finding the old Winchester house almost immediately, as her power saved her from having to stop to ask for directions. A sign out front of the house said it had been recently sold, but the interior was still empty, so she decided to take a look around for whatever reason, probably hoping to find something that was similar between this house and her childhood home, something to connect them with so she didn't feel as crazy as she looked breaking into this random house so far away from her home. Making sure the new occupants weren't inside, Marley entered the mysterious connection to her past.

After finding nothing but a few traces of sulfur in the ceiling of the nursery, which seemed odd yet Marley thought nothing of it, she gave up her search and walked outside again, sulking to her car. Just as she opened the driver's side door, a man had suddenly sneaked behind her and pinned her to the car. Though she couldn't see him, she immediately knew who it was.

"John Winchester?" although she already knew, Marley asked the name to keep suspicion down. She didn't want to scare him away this early in the game. John spun her around roughly, looking her in the eyes, then took a flask out of his coat pocket, popped the cap, and dripped some of the clear liquid on Marley's face. "What's that supposed to be, holy water?" She laughed nervously, hearing in his thoughts that it was exactly what she'd “guessed”. For a moment, John looked embarrassed then took a step back, clearing his throat. A warm but apprehensive smile played its way across his lips and into his eyes, which crinkled at the corners.

"Sorry about that, can't be too careful. Have we met?" he asked pleasantly, and Marley smiled back at him calmly. She shook her head and took another glance back at the Winchester house.
"This is going to sound crazy, but," she perused his memory, finding treasure troves of knowledge, seeing that he was a hunter of the supernatural and that all the things that she'd only ever heard of in legends existed, "-with your background I think you'll be more understanding than most."

She'd explained to him about the similarities between the two of them, specifically the house fire. However, when she'd gotten to the part about her "talent", he'd suddenly turned reluctant to listen further, so she had to coax him out of his trepidation with tidbits of information from his past that only he or his friends and family would know. After a couple minutes, she'd finally cracked his shell, and he told her about his children, Sam and Dean, and how Sam had also been six months old when their house burned down and how the fire had taken John's wife, Mary. But he'd said it wasn't an ordinary fire; a demon caused it. Probably the same demon that burned down Marley's house when she was just a baby.

Their conversation lasted nearly an hour there on that street in Lawrence and eventually John decided it was time to leave and continue his life on the road. Marley insisted that she would go with him, but he refused, said he worked alone, and she told him she didn't care, that he was stuck with her. Marley thought she’d be more reluctant to up and leave her normal life to help somebody, who’d be considered a stranger to her, hunt ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and a plethora of things the average populace thought were just fairy tales. As it turns out, however, in this direction, she felt useful, like she could really help people, and undo the evil people like her mother had left on the world. Before they left Lawrence, Marley had John drive her to her adopted parents’ house where she left a note stating she’d gone on a road trip with some friends from college (even though she didn’t have any; her prestige had made her intimidating to her peers) and wouldn’t be back for a while. So for a few months the two of them traveled together, and she helped in the hunting as best as she could, realizing the veil that stood in the way of her ability's grasp of the supernatural. John tried to help her get past it, even giving her a deck of cursed cards to practice with, but the efforts seemed useless after a while. Finally, on that last day of her break from college, John dropped her off at a new house back in Jefferson City. He said he'd paid for it with another one of his fake names and that it was a parting gift, though he left her with a warning that it probably wouldn’t be a smart idea to go back to Lawrence. After hunting, he’d said, it could be putting her family in serious danger.

"Seriously, no need to thank me," John laughed as he tossed Marley the keys to her home. "Consider it reparations for that talent of yours. And if you ever run into my boys, tell 'em I'm alright." Marley beamed at the man as he tipped his head to her. He drove away in his big black truck and she turned to the new two-story white beach-style house, absolutely puzzled at how she would try to live a normal life from here on out.

Ding-dong. Marley jumped from the noise. The cops, right. Marley shook away the nostalgic memories of John and stared at her hands for a second, remembering the predicament she was in. Tear swelled up her eyes again but this time she let them escape. She walked to the front door and opened it full-swing. "Evening officers. Come on in."

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter Two: The Threads Entwine

A week had passed since Cam’s death and nothing particularly interesting had occurred around Marley’s house since then. The world around her seemed to settle down, as if the incident had never happened, as if she’d never seen the demon on her walk home that night, as if her brother had never been killed. That was frustrating enough in itself, but what was even more obnoxious was that the police had given up on Cam’s case, though Marley knew they would never turn to investigate the supernatural, but the officers had simply named the cause of death a ‘liver failure’, even though Cam’s liver was perfectly functional, and called it a day. Obviously the Jefferson City PD wasn’t very motivated these days. Though their explanation didn’t explain why Cam’s heart was missing when they did the autopsy, which had absolutely baffled the mortician, they let the case go cold, returning to the norm of petty thefts and domestic discrepancies.

Marley pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger as a headache appeared out of the blue, and she leaned on the kitchen counter with her free hand. She sighed, stood upright, and shook her shoulders. I bet John could have figured this out, she thought solemnly and tried to track him down with her ability. Usually it was a simple task, and she would see in her mind’s eye the interior of a motel room layered in articles and John sitting at a table in the dark eating various fast foods. However, now, she couldn’t see him. John? Where are you? At first, she considered that he was in the middle of a hunt and his location was being fogged by whatever he was hunting. That notion was quickly discarded, as she’d still be able to see John, just not his quarry. Dammit, John. She couldn’t help but feel she had something to do with this. The demon, Cam. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

For a second, just a small second, it was clear, as if the veil moved, the thing itself that was blocking her mind’s sight pulled away, allowing a vivid image of John. He was strapped to a bed, unconscious, but alone and unblemished. She saw the door of the room he was in, on its outside in plastic numbers “208”. Though the veil returned almost as soon as it left, “Sunrise Apartments” ran through her mind, giving her a notion of John’s location. Marley had a bad feeling about this, not only that John was tied to a bed and in trouble, which she had to quickly set aside to begin calmly yet hurriedly putting together a travel bag, but the inconspicuous manner in which the veil cleared, just for that information to be passed to her. Normally she didn’t believe in such deliberate action, especially from the supernatural, which normally acted in a radical and random manner in her experience, and she hoped this passing of John’s location wasn’t a lure since without so much as considering the alternative, Marley had already decided to go rescue her friend.

How would she handle any supernatural beings if they were there, though? She hadn’t used a weapon since she last saw John months ago, and the only things she stored in her house were bags of rock salt in her hall closet upstairs and an iron fire poker in the living room. That and the .45 she kept under her mattress. Thinking of which, Marley jogged upstairs, still barefoot, and into her bedroom, grabbing the handgun, the extra magazine next to it, and put both into the backpack, checking the safety on the weapon to make sure it was on.

“Missing…something…” she mumbled to herself, flying through drawers to grab anything important. “Oh! Right.” Moving quickly to the bottom of her nightstand, she pulled open the last drawer, which had a false bottom, and from it she grabbed the emergency silencer for her .45 along with an old fake police badge and ID and a money clip holding approximately thirty-five hundred dollars in twenties. If there was anything John Winchester taught her in their time together, it was that even out of the game, you’d have to be prepared for everything. Some called it paranoia, she called it precaution, not that anybody else knew about her hidden stash of “rainy day” money.

Marley paused. Demons. Of course, demons. How did she not think of that first? Before running downstairs, she grabbed an empty cardboard carton from the waste basket in her bathroom and filled it to the brim with rock salt from one of the sacks in the hall closet. As she ran into the kitchen, she zipped the backpack, tossing it casually onto the sofa, and then grabbed an empty spray bottle from under the kitchen sink and filled it with tap water from the faucet. Within the drawer in the far end of the counter space was the rosary Cam had brought with him to Marley’s house; it was the only thing from his ex-girlfriend he had to his name, and had refused to throw it away but couldn’t stand to look at it either. She silently thanked him now for his stubbornness and dropped the rosary into the water in the bottle.

"Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostril…” Marley began, purifying the tap water and making it holy, a weapon that would burn the Hell (more figuratively than literal) out of any demon she encountered. After a few moments, she ended the incantation with “Per Dominum, amen.” and screwed the spray cap back on the bottle, then walked into the living room and stuffed that in her backpack as well. It thunked against her back when she slung it over her shoulder and took her final steps over the threshold. A breeze rustled through her bangs lightly, bringing with it the smell of the lavender her neighbors had planted just last month. Her sense of determination to help John was there, stiffening the way she walked to her dark red sedan in the driveway, but as much as the feeling confused her considering the very recent passing of the last of her family, a loss she had yet to properly grieve, a sort of freedom washed over her. Every fiber in her body began to tremble in the excitement and thrill she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. It wasn’t until that moment that Marley Walker regretted letting John kick her out of hunting those months ago.

Nobody necessarily belonged in this business, but she didn’t feel like any other line of duty would be a better fit for her, except possibly the police force, since she could know each person who committed every crime and find the evidence to convict them all in a snap. Yet it was still too small-town somehow, too widely-known and too “apple pie”. Traveling with John Winchester had entirely warped Marley’s sense of normalcy, and she was experiencing a sensation not unlike “you don’t know how hungry you are ‘till you smell dinner”, which was something the man himself would mutter before taking his first bite into a gas station burger after a job well done. A smile crept its way onto her lips at the memory, the only feature of her face she couldn’t see as she checked the rear view mirror after starting the car’s engine and backed out of the driveway.

Luckily, Sunrise Apartments were only fifteen minutes away from her house, another reason, she realized as she made her way to the location, that this could very well be a lure. The motive, though, of the demons was the part she couldn’t figure out. She’d been out of hunting for a while and she and John had had minimal contact since she moved into her house. Why they would possibly try to get her now was entirely mysterious. This theory, however, didn’t trump Marley’s devotion to this dangerous undertaking. After the countless scrapes she and John had been in during their short time together, he’d saved her life several times, and she his as well, yet she would never be able to pay back her debt to him. And that’s what kept her pressing a little harder on the gas pedal around each corner, becoming anxious to reunite with John and maybe give him something to owe her for this time.

Not caring about the observing pedestrians or making a silent approach, Marley slammed on the brakes, the car coming to a screeching halt outside the apartment complex. The driver-side door flew open and Marley ran into the building, then as she went up the stairs, pulled the handgun and spray bottle out of the backpack, re-zipping it and securing its place on her back again. She held the spray bottle in her left hand, holding the same way as she did her .45; in a quick motion, she turned the safety off with her thumb and returned her index finger to the trigger. Once she reached the third floor, before advancing to the door of room 208, Marley double-checked the nozzle of the bottle, twisting the plastic knob at the end to “jet” so the most holy water possible would spray out at the demons she desperately hoped weren’t in the room with John. Past the door, her mind’s eye was fogged, so something supernatural was most definitely behind it, but she had no guarantee to what that was going to be. Before taking the last step, Marley desperately prayed she’d packed accordingly, then walked up to the only thing between her and John Winchester, and knocked three times with the nose of her pistol.

There was a hesitation from inside the room, a bit of shuffling, and then everything went quiet, too quiet. At that moment, no sound penetrated the aged building from the streets; no footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs from above or below her, the wind outside had died down entirely.

The door before her opened slowly with a small creak to reveal a bed with a man tied to the headboard, a two people, a man and a woman (or what appeared to be a man and woman) standing halfway in the room. Both of their heads shot up, glaring at Marley through fully-black eyes. She didn’t waste any time, spraying holy water at both possessed bodies, instantly causing the skin to redden and bubble. The man recovered quickly and lurched at Marley who ducked under his outreached hands and spun around, spraying him in the face with the holy water, burning out his eyes, blinding him. He screamed out in pain and the woman, now enraged by the disability of her partner, charged at Marley, catching her by surprise, sending them both falling to the wooden floor with a thunk.

Both women wrestled on the floor while the male demon reached around the room, stumbling over a chair that had been pulled out from the small dining table in the apartment. After earning a punch to the face, Marley managed to stuff the woman into the closet, forcing both doors closed and began digging through her backpack, pulling out the carton of salt and lining it in front of the folding doors, trapping one of her attackers. Adrenaline pumped through her blood, giving her the strength to tackle the blind demon, but was quickly thrown off against a dresser and hitting her head on the wood. Marley shook her head and tried to focus her vision; after a few seconds, she aimed her handgun at the male demon who was groping empty space in search of his enemy. She shot one knee, then the other, sending him to the ground to try to crawl to her. Seeing no other option, Marley began speaking the exorcism incantation: “Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus omnes satanica potestas, omnes incursio…” Right as she finished, two clouds of black smoke appeared, both congregating against the ceiling and breaking through the window to escape. Marley leaned her head against the bed and sighed in relief.

“That went better than expected,” she mumbled to herself, yet still wasn’t able to completely let go her feeling of uneasiness. Standing, she shook herself loose, letting the bottle of holy water drop to the floor and setting down the handgun on the bed. Thankfully, nobody had walked by and seen the predicament, but just to avoid further problems, Marley shut the door groggily and plopped down on the bed next to John’s unconscious form, letting the adrenaline rush slide off of her. A few breaths. Noise from the streets returned, the wind picked up again. Marley turned around on the bed and untied John’s hands from the bedpost and looked at his face, seeming so peaceful with his eyes closed. And it struck her then. Glancing at him, thinking hard, she still couldn’t see him as John there with her mind’s eye. The man looked like John, obviously his body, but it still wasn’t… John, somehow.

Marley stood up and looked around the apartment and in a drawer found a spoon made of silver. She rushed again to John’s side and touched the silver to his forearm. No reaction. She picked up the bottle from the floor and sprayed John’s face with holy water. Again, no reaction. The bottle was returned to its location on the floor and the spoon was dropped lazily onto the bedside table. A mixture of the moisture and the clink roused John from his sleep, and he blinked slowly, looking around him, trying to decipher his location. Seeing her friend waking, Marley shoved away her predicament, blaming it on a glitch in her power, and smiled.

“John,” she spoke. He looked at her, his brows furrowing. She leaned in closer, brushing her hair behind her ear, still smiling. “Hey, there, sleepy head.”

“M-Marley?” he questioned, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the sleep still left in his mind. John sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, then stopped and wiped his cheek. “Why is my face wet?”

“I had to make sure it’s really you, John.”

“Smart move.”

“I learned from the best.” John grinned, wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes and Marley, feeling joy for the first time since Cam passed only a week ago, bombarded Winchester with a hug, tightly wrapping her arms around his large torso, squeezing him, glad he was okay. He returned the gesture half-heartedly with a groan and they broke apart.

“You take care of him?” John motioned to the corpse in the corner of the room.

“Oh, yeah, that one and a girl. What happened, John?” Marley asked him, standing and stuffing her things back into the backpack she’d thrown on the floor next to the closet doors.

“I-I’m not sure; they’ve been drugging me.”

“Well, can you walk?” she asked, returning to her spot next to the bed and outstretching her hand to John. As their hands met, the fire alarm began blaring throughout the building. Marley squinted her eyes at the sudden noise, but John didn’t as much as flinch. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand but hobbled sideways a bit and Marley caught him, helping him back to a sitting position on the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere for a few minutes, tough guy,” she ordered over the shrill alarm. They stayed in that position for a few minutes; neither of them moved, but both of them were paying full attention to their surroundings, Marley still confused why she couldn’t see John as he was. She thought it might have been because she hadn’t seen him for a while, but she’d been keeping tabs on him. That alone would have kept the connection strong. Her power, though, wasn’t that developed and it was harder for her to see or know things that weren’t near her at a consistent rate. She’d have to start practicing again. Even still, she could see John fine just two weeks ago when she’d checked in on him mentally. Was it the drugs? She doubted it, they weren’t anything supernatural, or so she thought.

“I don’t smell any smoke, do you?” Marley wondered aloud, thinking it may have been a false alarm, using her power and realizing there wasn’t even a fire in the building.

“There isn’t a fire. False alarm.”

“Exactly.”

The door to the apartment burst open and two men stepped in, bearing shotguns and gas tanks filled with holy water. The taller was Sam Winchester, Marley realized, and next to him was his older brother, Dean, both sons of the man next to her on the bed. Sam had dark chocolate-colored hair that swooped over his eyes and tucked behind his ears, hanging lazily at the nape of his neck. He had forest green eyes set deeper in his head than his brothers, a ski slope nose and thin lips, a V-shaped chin but a wide jaw. Dean was only a few inches shorter than Sam and had wide, hazel eyes, a strong, angular nose, fuller lips and a rounder chin. Both men were well-built and attractive, bearing many of the same traits as their father. Apparently, Marley noticed as she perused the brothers’ minds, they had come here looking for their father just as she had, but they had been looking for quite a while now, having only seen him once since Dean picked up Sam from college after his girlfriend Jessica died. No, not died, killed by a… “demon”. Sam’s own memory filled in the word for Marley’s mind, not being able to see the culprit hidden behind the veil for herself.

Dean and Sam lowered their weapons for a moment, looking in relief at their now conscious and very much alive father sitting on the bed, but noticed Marley and walked into the bedroom quickly, Dean raising his shotgun again. Marley raised her hands in defense but didn’t really feel in danger. John and wouldn’t let his own sons harm a family friend, especially not the one who just saved his life.

“Dean, calm down. Put it away,” John barked, apparently finding his fatherly voice once the boys were present. “This is Marley Walker. She’s a friend.” Sam and Dean both lowered their shotguns, trusting their father’s judgment, but Dean still raised the holy water and splashed it on both Marley and his father but to no avail. Dean smirked, visibly not surprised by the ineffectiveness of his weapon.

“Nice to finally put the faces to the names. Well, in person, that is,” Marley noted, a joke that only John would be able to catch, as he was the only other person in the room that knew of Marley’s ability, which almost didn’t seem fair considering Sam’s visions which John had told her about during their time together. Marley and Sam were both born on May 2nd, 1983, and both had their very own sort of mental power. Both of them had lost a parent in a house fire when they were just six months old as well, a coincidence that gave Marley a cement conviction that the two of them were connected. Anybody with a functioning brain could see it, yet the only thing she was left wondering was the purpose of their connection and if there were any others out there like the two of them.

Figuring that out, however, was a matter of actual hands-on research as she only knew about Sam’s power and past from perusing his mind and reading the information embedded within his memories, obtaining the knowledge for her own at a snap of her fingers. There were only two others she could find by strolling through the brothers’ memories. A man named Max Miller, now deceased, who had the power of telekinesis, and a possible case, not a solid fact: an infant named Rosie, who had the alleged power to read minds. Max Miller was also born on May 2nd, 1983, furthering the correlation between them, almost as if they were a generation of their “species”, a mutation spread across random children in the United States on that date.

“Dad,” Dean sighed in relief and helped his father up off the bed now that he could stand without support.

“So, uh, what’s with the get-up?” John asked his sons, who were both dressed fully in bright yellow fireman garb, a disguise they acquired to get into the building. John’s question was barely audible over the piercing sirens. Behind the brothers, Marley noticed two more men looming in the doorway, both staring violently with pitch black, shiny eyes.

“We don’t have time for this,” Marley snapped and pushed past the brothers, closing the door that separated the bedroom and living room, locking it. Before the brothers, now recovered from her rude ram through them, could ask what that was for, an axe came through the wood, sending splinters flying toward their faces, answering their question. Marley quickly grabbed her backpack from the floor and got out the salt again, lining it in front of the door, then followed John and brothers, who were already out the window onto the fire escape. Barely having enough to finish the task, Marley lined the window sill with the salt then sprinted down the stairs, catching quickly up to the Winchesters as Dean helped John onto the street then hopped down himself, followed by Sam who assisted Marley down.

As the group began moving down the street, a man appeared and attacked Marley from behind, loosening the backpack from her shoulder and sending it flying a few feet away. He pinned her to the ground and grinned an evil, toothy smile. Despite the commotion, she recognized him. It flashed through her mind: the black hoodie he wore, the dark jeans, the brown rustled hair and those sinister black eyes. He was the man, no, the demon, she’d seen that night. This demon was the one who killed her brother.

Her realization was cut short by a sudden punch to the face, followed by another, then another, and another after that. The seemingly endless blows completely blurred Marley’s vision, and she felt blood running down her cheek, flowing into her mouth. Within a few seconds, the brothers noticed the brutality occurring right behind their backs and ran to the woman’s aid, John staying behind for lack of current ability. If he couldn’t trust even his own feet, he definitely wasn’t going to trust himself in helping against a demon. Sam ran to Marley and the man and kicked him in the face yet it yielded no effect and Sam was sent flying into a nearby parked car, the glass of the windshield exploding and shattering from the blow.

A gunshot. Loud, echoing off buildings and chasing silence from the street, which returned quickly, then again replaced by the muted thump of the man’s corpse hitting the asphalt beside Marley. The punches stopped but the pain remained, and she tried to regain her strength to get up and rolled over onto her stomach and rose to all-fours, but when she tried to stand, her knees gave out.

She would have fallen to the asphalt again if Dean hadn’t caught her mid-descent, pulling her to her feet and putting away his weapon simultaneously. A glint of sunlight caught on the barrel and Marley smiled weakly through her swollen cheek as her sight cleared.

“Is that… the Colt?” she inquired, managing to sound eager even through her clenched teeth, jaw still rigid from trying to bite back the soreness in every facet of her face. Another pair of strong arms, John’s, helped her rectify her posture from her left and she turned to look at her friend through one eye; the other had swollen shut.

“Yeah, we got it. C’mon, we got to get out of here,” John encouraged her, his voice edged with gruff yet still somehow softer than the tone he’d used with his sons. Sam was walking ahead of them now, leading the group carefully through alleyways until the sirens disappeared. In a small nook between two buildings, Dean and his father finally let Marley down, propping her up against a cool brick wall. They didn’t need to be so careful, Marley was definitely tougher than she looked and John knew that she didn’t like people taking care of her. Marley liked being the helper, not the help-ee, but as she felt the pain pulse throughout her skull again, she thought maybe letting the boys tug the load this time around wouldn’t hurt.

Sam dropped the duffle bag he’d been carrying onto the concrete heavily then knelt beside it, unzipped it, and brought out the medical supplies. Marley rolled her eyes, well, her eye, and straightened up against the wall, trying to show she was still fine and able.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt, really,” she pleaded and Sam hesitated, looking up at his father, unsure how to handle this newcomer to Winchester & Co. John just smirked and nodded toward Marley.

“Well, kid, looks like you haven’t outgrown your stubbornness,” he noted almost happily, earning a somewhat confused glance from Dean. He and Sam hadn’t seen their dad since they got the Colt from a nest of vampires and here they find him, with somebody they’ve never met or even heard of, in the middle of a mess of demons.

“I learned from the best,” Marley joked, breaking Dean’s train of thought. Sam took this opportunity to swiftly but gently place the icepack he’d been shaking onto Marley’s swollen eye. She flinched from him, shocked by the sudden pressure to her wound but found herself leaning back into Sam’s hand, finding relief in the cold of the pack. His gaze found hers and was sympathetic. She nodded to him briefly and took the pack in her own hand. The four were still for a few minutes, then Marley broke the silence when she stood, stretching each of her limbs, save for the one grasping the ice pack, feeling the soreness in her muscles.

“I can walk, I’m fine. Can we go now? We’re kinda trapped in this alley if anything is still following us,” she pointed out and got a fleeting look from Dean. A moment passed before Marley remembered that she’d never met either of John’s sons before today, though it felt like she’d known them since she’d known John, as every detail of their lives was burned into her brain thanks to her nifty ability.

Sam and Dean took the head of the walking arrangement, John and Marley watching the rear. The brothers walked closer together than she and John, and their movements were nearly mirrored, yet there was a different emotion behind the twitching in their muscles. Dean’s jerks and habitual switching of dominant hands was something he’d picked up from his father, a hereditary business trait; however, when Sam did these things, it was out of a sort of nervous apprehension, a need and determination to be ready for whatever may walk around the corner. They were near opposites but so alike, like they were molded for a book series or a dramatic television show.

Once the group reached the original street they were on, all four walked to Dean’s car, the Impala, a sleek shiny black ’67 sedan. It had quite a history, and was a character of its own in the life of the Winchesters.

“So what’s the plan? What next?” Marley asked, already decided herself that she was going to be included in whatever the boys were up to, having nothing to go home to and no reason to stay in Jefferson City.

“I think we need to rest up. Follow you to your place?” John suggested lowly, adding to the point he was attempting to make. Still no thoughts, nothing. Completely blank. Marley was now completely baffled as to what could be veiling John from her like this, but she’d be keeping an eye on him, for her protection, for John’s, and for his sons.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied after too long a silence, earning another concerned glance from Sam and a puzzled expression from Dean. He was suspicious, not completely willing to trust another hunter from the jump. Sam was less cautious, which in turn made Marley slightly wary of him, not used to the idea of a hunter, even less a person she’d just met, finding her “pretty” as Sam had so simply put it in his mind. She shook away the thought, though. There were much, much more important things at hand, and a fling with a well-built, tall, attractive hunter was not going to get them any closer to killing the demon that had afflicted each of their lives so intensely. Marley smirked, though, thinking that when this whole mess was done, she may give it a shot.

The drive back to her house was much less exciting as the ride to Sunrise Apartments, Marley noted as the last remaining bits of adrenaline wore off and she stole a look at the Impala in her rear view mirror. She pulled into her driveway and Dean parked his car on the curb in front of the walkway; both killed their engines simultaneously. Exiting her car, she waited for the men to meet her at her doorstep then as they did, she opened the front door, letting Dean and John inside, but Sam seized the door, insisting with an open palm that Marley enter before him. She complied with a small smile and entered her home, seeing that the men already inside were making themselves right at home.

Dean already had a beer from the fridge and John was lounging on the couch, feet crossed and planted on the coffee table. Sam offered Marley an apologetic look and she shook her head, still smiling, and waved her hand, telling him silently it was fine, that she was used to it. Dean set down the Colt on the kitchen counter and started walking toward the bathroom. Sam sat down on the loveseat near the door and began conversing with his father. The topic seemed deep and instantly both men were immersed in speaking with one another. Marley took this opportunity, stepping quietly and briskly into the kitchen and sliding the Colt from the counter and into the back of her pants, then covered it with her shirt, glad that she hadn’t chosen a tight blouse today.

Sam and John were still conversing, and Dean was just walking out of the bathroom, but Marley was already halfway up the stairs, and continued into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her, securing the lock. She walked into the bathroom and saw her bloody and bruised face, cringing from the plethora of blues, reds, and purples blotched over her eye and the surrounding cheek and a portion of her forehead. It was only that side of her face, however, that was swollen, which was a relief, yet she still could only see out of one eye, distorting her depth perception.

A knock on the door. Rap, rap, rap. Hard knuckles. She couldn’t see who it was behind the door, so it must have been John. She’d had no problem locating Dean and Sam in the house downstairs, just to make sure. Cautiously, Marley walked back into the main area of the bedroom and unlocked the door, and pulled out the Colt. She held it on the inside of the door and swung it open, moving with it, keeping the gun concealed. John walked into the room with big steps, turning to face Marley. She knew she looked suspicious, holding the door the way she was, a look of determination mixed with anxiety stuck in her features, and she remained silent, waiting for John, or what looked like John, to speak.

“I wanted to ah, to thank you for saving me back there. Don’t know how you knew I was there with the demons around and all but I’m probably still breathing ‘cause of you,” John spoke evenly, looking Marley in the eyes, occasionally glancing to the edge of the door which she stood against.

“Dean did a good job in that alley. Shot that demon, didn’t even hesitate,” Marley tested the man before her, and his eyes narrowed slightly at her words.

“Yeah, he did what he had to to get the job done,” John replied just as warily. Marley smirked then and the eyebrow above her unwounded eye arched.

“You’re not mad?”

“For what?”

“For Dean using a bullet.” As the words left her mouth, the wind picked up, rustling the curtains at the window and the lights began to flicker, protesting against the night slowly falling over her home.

“It found us. It’s here,” John stated, turning toward the doorway.

“Don’t you move, John,” Marley ordered sternly, taking a step to her left, revealing her whole self and the Colt firmly held in her hand just as Sam and Dean reached the threshold, both noticing the sudden fluctuation in the atmosphere.

“You guys salt the windows and doors?” John asked his sons, and Sam nodded. Dean turned his head to Marley and traced his glance down her side, noticing the Colt, which he’d assumed John had taken, in her hand.

“What the hell’s going on?” Dean asked, his confusion finally turning to anger which was apparent in his question.

“This isn’t your dad, Dean. He’s possessed,” Marley claimed through clenched teeth. “He’s been possessed since I found him.” She stared hatefully at John, knowing know that it wasn’t her friend in front of her, but a powerful demon. One that wouldn’t react to the holy water she had in the apartment, and the only one she could think of with that level of ability was the one that had haunted her since birth.

“What?” Sam asked and in his tone conveyed the notion of their father being possessed was ludicrous, yet it was still edged with that apprehensiveness that always lingered with Sam.

“He’s not possessed; we already tried holy water,” Dean protested, taking an offensive step toward Marley.

“Yellow Eyes doesn’t react to holy water. That only works on regular demons,” Marley admitted with finality, and held up the Colt at John who put both hands up in defense, still feigning innocence.

“Marley, this is ridiculous. It’s me. How can I get you to trust me?” John asked, now with annoyance tingeing his voice. He still didn’t seem the least bit worried, though, his hands acting only as a show for Sam and Dean.

“Dean, think about this, since when does John not care about using the Colt’s bullets? Don’t you think he’d be chewing you out by now?” Only silence met Marley’s question. She looked desperately between the brothers and their father, Sam and Dean sharing a prolonged look between them. Marley cocked the Colt, still aiming it at John, hoping to quicken the decision-making process with drastic measures.

“She’s right, Sam,” Dean finally spoke, beginning to get upset.

“What?” Sam asked, shocked that his brother would not only turn on their father, but take the side of somebody he’d just met an hour previous.

“Have you lost your mind, Dean?” John shouted the question, finally completely agitated with the situation.

“You shut your mouth,” Dean yelled back, taking a step toward Marley and outreaching his hand. “Give me the Colt.”

“Will you use it if you have to?” Marley inquired with a scowl, knowing the tendency of the Winchesters to sacrifice everything for each other, which was something she’d always admired about them. This, though, was something entirely different. Dean grabbed the Colt from Marley’s hands, keeping the aim locked on John, giving him a deadly glare.

“Sam?” John asked the only person in the room not currently bent on blowing a gaping hole in his chest wide open, but Sam looked back and forth between what appeared to be his father and what he knew to be his brother and the woman even he’d chosen over John. Sam walked to Marley and stood beside her as well, tensing for what may happen.

“What the hell’s gotten into all of you?” John’s voice raised even higher, the question coming out in a furious snarl.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean barked back.

“Fine, then. You’re all so sure, go ahead. Kill me.”

Dean switched his stance, holding the Colt with both hands, his aim rock solid. He couldn’t, however, pull the trigger. John looked down, waiting for a shot. Another few moments of silence passed; nobody moved.

“I thought so,” John spoke in a low voice and looked up, his eyes now a swirling gold and pupil-less. Sam lunged toward his father but was thrown against the wall and pinned there by some invisible force. Dean tried his brother’s move but ended up in the same fate, dropping the Colt. Marley knelt to grab for it, but got thrown back into the door, her mass closing it as she flew back, stopping as the door closed. Pinned there, suspended up in the air, she stared into the yellow eyes of the demon possessing her friend, the demon continually causing so much pain to John’s sons, and dragging out the tragedy that has been their life.

“What a pain in the a** this thing’s been,” Yellow Eyes playfully cooed as he picked up the Colt. He faced Marley, and he winked.

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter Three: Family Comes First


If you had asked Camelia Walker to describe the world in a single word, she would have chosen “godless”. It was this that she had drilled into Marley and Cameron day in and day out, a simple truth that dictated their lives until the day they were able to escape the Hell of their childhood. Whether in existence or not, the God that so many believed in and loved had done nothing for those children in that house. Evil occurred daily all around the world and that God didn’t seem to care, didn’t want to cure children of cancer, didn’t want to end the wars, and didn’t want to pull a young brother and a younger sister from the grasp of a nightmare that would scar them for the rest of their lives.

It was in a situation like Marley’s current that solidified in her that this was, in fact, a godless world. No God that deserved praise by millions would let his or her children be at the mercy of a demon, one single demon. No God that deserved the unconditional love he or she received from people all around the globe would allow that one simple demon to inflict the suffering and pain that it had on so many. So maybe there really wasn’t a God, or maybe he was just on vacation, but all Marley Walker knew was that there was no use relying on the Supernatural. ‘Cause all it would ever do is bite you in the a**.

“It’s you, isn’t it? We’ve been looking for you for a long time,” with a hint of arrogance, Sam announced this, earning a glance from Yellow-Eyes. It was a strange sensation, seeing in front of him his father, but knowing that this was an entirely different being. The features were there, the face, the body, even the smell, but with those swirling golden eyes came a malevolence unmatched by any creature the Winchesters had faced before.

“Well, you found me,” Yellow-Eyes stated blatantly, almost dully, comfortable in his position of control. Possessed, John’s voice became lower and gruffer than anyone had experienced previously; it separated John from the demon within him and was a constant reminder to the three younger in the room that there was a job to do here. This demon had to die, had to finally pay for its crimes, but there was still an obstacle in the way of that task’s completion. Could the brothers muster the courage to kill their own father for revenge? Could Marley lose her brother and mentor in the same week? She now almost regretted looking too much into their current situation, seeing that John wasn’t John, pulling the Colt on him, almost. Now was not the time for reflection.

“Why didn’t the holy water work?” Sam questioned, his anger beginning to boil in his blood, pure hatred for the creature possessing his father obvious in his stare.

“I’m not your daily run-of-the-mill demon,” Yellow-Eyes smirked the reply.

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“Oh, that’d be a neat trick. In fact-“ the demon released his grip on the Colt and set it unnecessarily gingerly atop the comforter on the bed beside him. “Here. Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy.” Marley was confused for a moment, as she only knew Sam to have visions as a result of his mental abilities. However, as she delved momentarily through his memories, she realized that he’d once moved furniture inexplicably when he thought Dean was going to die. This breakthrough of ability was most likely the cause of that traumatic stress he’d undergone, but Marley was curious to see if Sam could utilize that power once again here. Wrinkling his nose from the effort, Sam concentrated on the Colt but it didn’t budge.

“How about you, little Ms. Know-It-All? Or are you still a one-trick pony?” Yellow-Eyed nodded to Marley and held his hand out in a “here, take it” gesture toward the Colt, the only weapon that could kill him permanently. She ignored his offer, though, and only glowered hatefully at the demon before her, ignoring that he was wearing John’s face. All the possible contempt she could conjure was in her eyes then, emerald daggers pointed for the kill. “You know, Johnny… he’s in here with me, trapped inside his own meat suit. Says ‘hi’, by the way. He’s gonna tear you apart. He’s gonna taste the iron in his sons’ blood,” Yellow-Eyes threatened and tightly wrapped his fingers around the Colt again, then strolled to Dean who was pinned by the far window.

“Let him go, or I swear to God-“Dean began.

“What?” Yellow-Eyes interrupted. “What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I’m concerned, this is justice. You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter.”

“Who, Meg?”

“The one in the alley? That was my boy. You understand.”

“Then why not attack us in the alley? Why wait?” Marley interjected, hoping to take the attention off of Dean before he got himself hurt. The demon shook his head coldly and sighed.

“I could’ve killed you a hundred times today, but this… this is worth the wait. You’re not the only ones allowed a family, you know. You destroyed my children. How’d you feel if I killed your family?” Yellow-Eyed paused, seeing the change in Marley’s expression, loathe sliding away temporarily to be replaced by grief. He half-frowned in a sort of mock sympathy. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I did. Still, two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“You son of a b***h,” Dean spoke furiously.

“I wanna know why,” Sam announced, voice booming and brimmed with abhorrence. “Why’d you do it?” John turned to his son, still manipulated by the thing he hated most in the world. Watching the conflict, Marley wished for it all to be over, despite the outcome. She wanted the torture to stop, the pain to end; she wanted her brother back. The reason he was gone, the only reason, was this demon in front of her possessing the person she knew best in the world, the person she’d hunted with, the closest person she’d had to family in a long time.

“You mean why did I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?” Yellow-Eyed answered Sam casually again, as if murder was just another wishy-washy subject, unimportant to the greater scheme of things.

“And Cam!” Marley added, fire smoldering in her lime eyes, not letting her brother be just another obituary. She would have mentioned her father in the mix, as this demon had killed him, too, but he wasn’t the sore spot now. Marley, like Sam, needed to know what was so damn important that families needed to be strained, broken, and decimated.

“Right, right, the beloved brother. You want to know why?” Yellow-Eyes backed toward Sam as he spoke. “Because they got in the way.”

“In the way of what?” Sam’s curiosity partly muffled his anger.

“My plans for you, Sammy, and Marley, here, and all the children like you,” the demon managed to answer the question without actually providing any new information. Dean feigned a yawn and brought the attention to himself, again.

“Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh? ‘Cause I really can’t stand the monologuing,” Dean quipped, lips pulling into his signature sarcastic smirk.

“Funny,” Yellow-Eyes retorted quickly. “But that’s all part of your M.O., isn’t it? Masks all that nasty pain. Masks the truth.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he’s clearly John’s favorite. Even when you boys have been looking for Daddy this past year, he’s been hunting with Marley, ignoring your calls. Though, even when Dad and brother fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.”

“And you’re real proud of your kids, too, I bet, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted ‘em,” Dean smiled at Yellow-Eyes, proud of his humor, but the victim of the joke showed no signs of comedy, or a tolerance thereof. Stepping back, the demon lowered his head, but not out of shame for the loss of his children, for when he raised it again, Dean yelped in pain, the veins on his neck bulging against the skin out of strain. Every nerve in his body felt aflame, every possible point, angle, and curve entirely engulfed in agony.

A wound burst open just above Dean’s collarbone and blood began to pour from it, oozing quickly down his chest and soaking his shirt. The same crimson seeped from his lips, the flow only breaking temporarily when he closed his mouth to inhale through his nose, but then more screams wracked his frame.

“Dean!” Sam yelled desperately for his brother and struggled against the force holding him to the wall to no avail. He yanked and twisted against it, trying to end the pain inflicted on his family. “No!” Dean’s screams stopped and he inhaled sharply in an effort to gain strength even through the immense pain, then settled his gaze on the vile soul wearing his father’s face.

“Dad! Dad, don’t you let it kill me!” He gasped between breaths but John just smiled and Dean’s body tensed again, shaking only from the cries escaping his lips.

“Dean, no!” Sam bellowed once more and the blood streamed down Dean’s chin. Marley could only watch in horror, eyes flicking between Sam, Yellow Eyes, and Dean, trying to figure a plan in her head, but nothing could come to mind. Her thoughts jumbled, slid atop one another, ungraspable and incoherent. A way to distract the demon, maybe, anything for John’s sons, but nothing seemed good enough.

“Dad, please,” Dean choked out, eyes becoming heavy.

“John Winchester, I know you’re in there! Your son is going to die right now if you don’t fight that thing out of you, you hear me?” Marley shrieked through Dean’s cries as best as she could, attempting with all her ability to reach John and stop him from killing one of his sons. Dean’s head rolled forward then, and his eyes closed.

“Dean!” came again from Sam and the room went silent. Marley’s heart thumped loudly in her ears, the silence seeming illusory for so abruptly following the excess of noise. Waiting for resolution, the very fibers of her being were wrung tight. Silence was only broken by the occasional drip of blood rolling from Dean’s chin to the carpet beneath. The air hung still and stagnant.

Drip… Drip… Drip…

“Stop,” John’s voice, his own voice. The force holding Sam and Marley to their respective walls disappeared and they were free, feet hitting the floor simultaneously. “Stop it.” Sam lunged for the Colt in his father’s hand and wrenched it easily away. Just as Sam had the weapon aimed at John and was a safe distance away, John turned around, eyes tainted with swirling gold.

“You kill me, you kill Daddy,” Yellow Eyes stated with a knowing grin, the leverage he had making the odds ever in his favor, even without the Colt.

“I know,” spat Sam, tightening his fingers around the weapon. He slid his index finger over the trigger. Without hesitation, he squeezed it, but in an instant had the barrel pointed at John’s leg, and that’s where the bullet hit, sending a wave of blue light through John’s body. John fell to the floor, as did Dean, and Sam ran to his brother, followed by Marley, both still somewhat in shock. The scene was calmer now, but anxiety thickened the atmosphere like black oil, staining any potential relief.

Sam knelt beside his brother, holding his shoulder, and looked him over worriedly. Unconscious still behind them was John, and Marley glanced back toward him. With the demon still within him, she couldn’t discern his condition, so she focused back on the Winchesters in front of her. She felt considerable concern for Dean and yearned to reach out and help him but she kept her distance, knowing that the brothers weren’t as familiar with her as she was with them, which would make things a bit strange in the times to come, she thought.

“Dean? Dean, hey. Oh, you’ve lost a lot of blood,” Sam’s voice became soft and full of distress for his sibling’s wellbeing.

“Where’s Dad?” Dean, much to his character, seemed to be more concerned about his family than himself, and his thoughts were racing with apprehension.

“He’s right here, Dean. He’s right here.”

“Go check on him.”

“Dean.”

“It’s okay, Sam, I’ll be here with Dean. Be careful,” Marley interrupted and nodded to Sam, offering a sympathetic, almost sheepish, smile. The younger Winchester returned the gesture and stood to tend to their father.

“Dad?” John was still lying motionless on the floor, chest rising and falling but no sign of consciousness. “Dad?” His father shot up in a half sit up, eyes bulging and muscles tensed, but it wasn’t the position that was straining him.

“It’s still alive! It’s inside me, I can feel it,” John shouted through clenched teeth, pleading to his son. “You shoot me. You shoot me!” Sam kept the Colt aimed steadily toward his father, grip tight but his will slowly faltering. “You shoot me in the heart, son!”

“Sam, what are you doing?” Marley yelled while pulling Dean’s head into her lap. Her eye began to throb again from the adrenaline slipping away, a feeling that didn’t match the circumstances at hand.

“Do it now!” The eldest Winchester shouted upwards, literally begging for the end of his life. Sam could do it, John thought, he was the strong one. They were on the same page; they would sacrifice anything to permanently defeat this demon.

“Sam, don’t you do it. Don’t you do it,” Dean spoke firmly, voice becoming weaker as he lost more blood. The crimson was oozing into and between Marley’s fingers now as she held his head, so she pressed her index and middle finger against the wound on Dean’s neck, applying moderate pressure to hinder the outward flow of blood. He winced at her touch but settled into it unconsciously.

“You’ve gotta hurry! I can’t hold onto it much longer! You shoot me, son! Shoot me! Son, I’m begging you! We can end this here and now! Sammy!” Sam was conflicted between his brother’s and John’s orders. His eyes wetted, threatening tears of frustration to spill.

“Sam, no,” sputtered Dean weakly, his eyes fluttered a bit.

“You do this! Sammy! Sam-“ John attempted to continue his plea but was cut off by the sudden expulsion of a thick black cloud from his mouth. Swirling, violent, so dark, was Yellow Eyes in his true form, throwing himself from John’s body and dissipating into thin air at the ceiling. And like that, it was gone. Again.

They had been so close to ending their suffering and killing the vilest creature they’d known that had terrorized them for so long, but the opportunity slipped through their fingers like air. Accusing eyes from John to Sam, a wordless expression of his disappointment, but Sam had done the right thing. If they were going to really destroy this demon, they’d do it on their own terms.


~*~ ~*~


An encounter entirely too close for comfort was the only way Marley could begin to describe the events which had transpired only moments ago. She sat in the back seat of Dean’s 1967 Chevy Impala, the man himself unconscious and slumped against the window in the seat beside her. Sam was driving, eyes pointed ahead and fiery as he sped the muscle car to speeds it shouldn’t normally reach. From the passenger seat, John grunted in pain, sitting up straight to avoid falling asleep.

“Look, just hold on, alright? The hospital’s only ten minutes away,” Sam pronounced hurriedly, focused on getting his three passengers to said hospital in one piece.

“I’m surprised at you, Sammy,” John finally spoke after the silence that had held their company thus far. “Why didn’t you kill it? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this. Killing this demon comes first. Before me – before everything.” The arguing woke Dean, and he gazed at his brother through the rear view mirror, and Sam met his look.

“No, sir,” he disagreed. “Not before everything.” His eyes became trained on the road again. “Look, we’ve still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon-“

Glass shattering, metal crunching and folding in on itself, frame breaking and rubber screeching. Burning asphalt, then darkness. The scent of cut grass. A cool breeze slithered over Marley’s skin, painfully raising goose bumps through the lacerations on her arms. For only a moment she saw the three men in the car, all with fresh wounds and now all with their eyes closed and their heads hanging. The idea of their deaths didn’t so much as cross her mind, but her own became an inkling as she creaked her neck to the right, seeing the grill of an eighteen-wheeler snugly fit against the passenger side of the Impala. Her eyes traced down the contours of the door beside her, and her right arm, quickly becoming covered in blood. She couldn’t feel it, couldn’t waggle her fingers.

The headlights began to dim, or was it her eyes closing? Marley couldn’t decipher which, but quickly she fell unconscious, and all she knew was darkness.

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter Four: A Secret No Longer


Beep…Beep…Beep… Breaking silence, a high-pitched tone relentlessly echoed itself, claiming victory throughout sterile halls. The room was dim, illumination coming from only the chattering EKG and a small retro desk lamp on the bedside table.


“Significant passenger side intrusion. Unresponsive. BP is 180 over 60, heart rate 95, 95,” the helicopter EMT had said, somehow managing to fit both John and Dean in the chopper’s bay. Sam hysterically followed him, trying to get his attention.


“Tell me if they’re okay!” he’d yelled, but the man continued his work, next putting an unconscious Marley in the back of the ambulance that had also arrived.


“You have to stay still!” a paramedic woman ordered him, holding his arms, attempting to restrain him.


“Are they even alive?” Sam questioned the woman in front of him, head pounding from frustration. She’d never answered his question.


The flashback wore off, fading back into Sam’s memory, and kept itself there. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he took another look at his brother in the muted light, which partially reflected off the plastic tube running into Dean’s mouth and down his throat. Another machine, which looked like a cylindrical accordion within another cylinder chamber, contracted and expanded, working as a sort of artificial lung. Ssssss, air rushed in, ffffff, air rushed out, Ssssss, ffffff…


“Sam?” a female voice asked quietly, cutting harshly through the silence and rhythmic tones dominating the room. Marley walked in, tiptoed really, and sat on the edge of the bed near the conscious of the Winchester brothers. He still gazed at his brother, sleepiness in his eyes. Marley could see John in her mind’s eye, sleeping in the next room over, despite the nurses’ disallowance of visitors to him. He didn’t need a respirator, and wasn’t very badly hurt.


“Sam,” she tried again, this time getting his attention. He turned his head to look up at her, though he couldn’t make out her features without effort. “How are you?” She asked him, but his stare was miles away. He was stuck in those moments when John was possessed, when the demon got away, when his weakness almost caused the death of his brother, father, and father’s friend in one fell swoop.


“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Marley spoke, not really knowing how to approach the situation. This statement roused Sam from distraction, and his eyes focused on her. Hearing her words, Sam turned his head away, taking a long look at his brother before replying.


“I should’ve just-“ he began.


“No, you did the right thing,” Marley countered quickly. She wouldn’t let him do the patented Winchester guilt thing this time. She’d seen it during the entirety of her training with John, saw it countless times whilst perusing Sam and Dean’s history. Even when Sam was off in college, he would be hard on himself whenever he made a mistake.


“Who are you, anyway?” Sam switched subjects, and Marley smiled at the question. In his thoughts, Sam was trying to put together pieces of her story already, how she knew his father, how they’d ended up hunting together. Before he’d managed to come up with anything plausible, Marley saved him the effort.


“Marley Walker, 22, from North Platte, Nebraska. Nice to meet you,” she grinned but it went unnoticed in the darkness. “Maybe we should discuss this somewhere else, though, and I can tell you the whole story.” Sam kept his eyes on his brother, and then stood up; Marley followed suit. “We can come back first thing in the morning. Until then, I guess my house is the closest place.”


~*~ ~*~


The drive was mostly quiet; a drowsy atmosphere had overtaken the rear of the cab they were in.


“904 Justus Street?” the driver called and pulled the vehicle over to the right side of the road; Marley caught his eye in the rear view mirror, nodded, and handed him a twenty. She and Sam both got out of the car and started up the small cement walkway to the front door of Marley’s house. Her dark red BMW was still parked in the driveway. The house was still unlocked, as she really hadn’t thought to lock it during their last departure, and as they entered she flipped on a few lights and turned the deadbolt behind them.


“Would you like anything, Sam? Coffee, a beer, maybe something to eat?” Marley offered, feeling her own stomach rumbling. The small digital clock on the window sill above the sink read 2:38 a.m. He’d followed her into the kitchen, and taken a seat upon a stool on the opposite side of the island from her. Lazily, from a cupboard Marley grabbed a bag of tortilla chips, took off the plastic clip and started munching, still waiting for a reply. When she got none, she dropped the bag purposely onto the island in front of Sam’s frozen face.


“Wake up, Winchester,” she snapped once next to his ear and his attention shot his eyes in her direction. “You didn’t answer my question.”


“Uh, yeah, sorry. Coffee sounds good,” Sam replied finally, taking a second to remove the near-sleep from his eyes and reaching into the bag of tortilla chips in front of him for a bit of long-needed sustenance. After a few minutes, the coffee was done, and Marley was pouring two cups, one black for Sam and the other with condensed milk and sugar for herself. She plopped down on the stool next to Sam and handed him his beverage.


“What if I wanted sugar and milk?” Sam asked, a bit incredulous, and munched on another chip.


“You like coffee black, just like your brother, and just like your dad,” Marley assured him, taking a drink. Sam raised an eyebrow. How would she know that? He wondered. She still hadn’t revealed her “ability” to him or Dean, but she’d figured sooner was better than later. “Sam, what I’m about to say might sound crazy, but I think you’ll probably believe me more easily than your brother would, so what the Hell? Now’s as good a time as any.”


Setting his cup down with a sharp clink, Sam focused his attention on the woman next to him, the sudden intensity of the topic catching his mind completely. “What are you talking about, Marley?” He questioned, the urge to know forming a ball in his stomach.


“Well,” she started, mulling over her words. “When I was six months old, my house burned down, and my father died in the fire, kinda like how your house did the same, and Mary died, but I still don’t know for sure whether a demon caused it in my case.”


“How do you know about that?” Sam asked quickly and Marley gave him a sheepish grin.


“You’ll see, Sam, just let me tell the story.”


“Yeah, okay.”


“After that, it was just my brother, my mom, and myself. My mother was… a less than decent human being, so when my brother was eighteen he got CPS and a lawyer to get the two of us out of that house. We ended up moving to Lawrence, Kansas from Nebraska and I was adopted by Cam’s girlfriend’s parents. I went to the University of Kansas for Medical school and in my fourth year, I realized I had some sort of power,” she stressed the word, trying to reveal what she was getting at without saying it outright.


Sam took the bait and repeated, “Power?”


Marley bit her lip and dove right in. “Yeah, like your premonitions, but in my case it’s more like my brain is Google,” she explained.


“As in you know everything?” He hit the nail right on the head, and Marley let out a relieved sigh.


“Basically, yes, except the um, the supernatural. With all that, there’s this kind of veil-type thing that can pretty effectively block my power,” Marley continued and Sam seemed to believe her; she was a bit surprised at how easy it was to tell him. She soon realized though, when searching for reasoning, that he knew what it was like to have somebody look at him like he was some sort of freak, and didn’t want to inflict that feeling on her.


“That explains why the Yellow-Eyed Demon tried getting you to take the Colt from him,” Sam connected the incident, remembering again the events of earlier that night. “And why he included you in his monologue about his plan for his ‘special children’, whatever that means exactly.” Marley nodded, thinking that demon was definitely the reason behind their powers, and what he could possibly want with a rag-tag group of psychic weirdoes.


“Well, anyway, having the power kind of freaked me out, as you can imagine. So I starting kinda getting into my history and eventually found the article about your family’s house fire and I went to check it out to see if there was anything there that connected to me somehow, but I didn’t find anything. Your dad, John, was there though. I explained the whole story to him and he ended up letting me hunt with him. I learned the tools of the trade and his little tricks and just a bit of everything. Actually, I was hunting with him while you and your brother were looking for him. He wouldn’t stop talking about you two,” Marley smiled again, fondly remembering that time with the eldest Winchester.


“At least I know he was in good hands,” Sam sounded genuine but there was a bitter undertone in the way he said it. He and his father had never gotten along, really, and knowing John was hunting with somebody else without telling his sons or even letting them know where he was wouldn’t help that fact. “Cam was your brother, right?”


Marley nodded solemnly, her smile fading quickly away. “Sorry for your loss,” Sam’s face took on this sort of sympathetic puppy-dog expression. “Did Yellow Eyes get him?”


“No, actually, it was that demon who smacked me up in the alleyway, apparently Yellow Eyes’ son?” She reminded him, pointing to her injured eye, which was still fairly swollen and a reddish purple. Finishing his coffee, Sam yawned. The clock now read 3:04 a.m. They cleaned up the kitchen, putting the cups in the sink and re-clipping the chip bag shut, then said goodnight. Marley let Sam sleep in the guest room and insisted that she take the Lay-Z-Boy recliner in the living room.


Though she was snugly wrapped in a warm blanket and lying on possibly the world’s most comfortable chair, anxiety and worry stayed firmly planted in the Marley’s overactive mind. All the Winchesters were sleeping, all safe, but something was coming, something bad.


As if they needed more action after their recent scuffle with death.

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter 5: Asset

Marley woke with a start the next morning, her eyes instantly meeting the green glow of the digital clock, reading 7:15 a.m. Turning her head and rubbing the sleep out of her tear ducts, she realized she was alone. The scent of fresh coffee was in the air and the blinds were already drawn. Noisily the recliner squeaked and croaked as it was returned to an upright position and Marley stood up, straightening her hair with her fingers and walking into the kitchen. A folded sheet of paper was on the island, and on it written:


Went to the hospital to check on Dean and Dad. Made coffee, thanks for the hospitality
-S.W.

She didn’t need the note to know where Sam had gone; not only was it obvious, but she’d told him about her power last night. However, recounting how long it had taken John to get used to her ability in the short amount of time they had spent together, she realized she’d probably need to be easy on the brothers for a bit while they adjusted, too. Making her coffee and putting it in a travel mug, Marley threw on a jacket and headed groggily for the hospital.

Realizing she was still in yesterday’s clothes, she shrugged, parked her car, and walked casually inside, not needing to ask the receptionist what room to look for.

“-sions to his liver and kidney. But it’s the head trauma I’m worried about. There’s early signs of cerebral edema,” the doctor was explaining to Sam as Marley walked into Dean’s hospital room. Sam jumped slightly when she appeared behind him.

“Is there any way to rid his tissues of the fluid without a too-intrusive procedure, Doctor?” Marley questioned, taking a sip of her coffee. Sam’s eyebrow rose slightly at her specific question. She should know the answer, right? Or was she asking for his benefit? The doctor looked off to the side for a second, as if considering the answer, and met Marley’s gaze.

“It’s hard to say. Without a full scan we can’t tell where the fluids are accumulated the most and he’s in too fragile a condition to be moved right now. With that said, even if we had the scan, he might not survive that kind of surgery.”

“Thanks, Doc. Keep us posted if anything changes,” she concluded, taking a further step into the room as the doctor exited.

“Impressive,” Sam noted, shooting a worried glance toward his brother.

“Med school, remember?” Sam nodded. “Oh, John’s awake, if you want to go see him. That’s where I’m headed; doesn’t look like Dean’s going anywhere.” This remark earned her a sour look from the youngest Winchester, but again she shrugged – it was too early for this.

John was sitting up in his bed, arm in a sky blue sling. Morning light flowed gently through the pulled curtains, fully illuminating the room and casting happy shadows past what it touched. Straight to business, John awkwardly pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, flipped it open, and removed a plastic card. He handed it to Sam as the two youths in the room found their respective places around the bed.

“Here, give them my insurance,” John spoke and Sam took the card from him, smiling as he read the name printed upon it.

“Elroy McGillicutty?” Sam questioned.

“And his two loving sons, and Marley-“

“Used her own insurance, but thank you, John,” Marley grinned at John, glad that he and his sons were all okay. And also glad, but more subtly, that he was demon-free and back to his old self.

“What else did the doctor say about Dean?” Asked the elder, switching his gaze back to his son.

“Nothing. Look. The doctor’s won’t do anything, then we’ll have to, that’s all. I don’t know, I’ll find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him,” Sam scratched the back of his neck when he spoke; the words sounded better fit for Dean’s mouth than his.

“We’ll look for someone,” John assured.

“Yeah.”

“But, Sam, I don’t know if we’re gonna find anyone.”

“Why not?” Sam replied somewhat indignantly. “I found that faith healer before.”

“Right, that was… that was one in a million.”

“So what? Do we just sit here with our thumbs up our a**?” Sam’s voice raised, frustration taking over logic.

“Wait, what about the Colt?” Marley suggested, wanting to break up the tension in the room.

“Dean is dying, and you’re worried about the Colt?” It was a legitimate question, one that Marley was sure wouldn’t be the last of the tough questions she’d have to answer down the road, but her brow furrowed and she set her jaw, contemplating her response.

“We’re hunting this demon, and maybe it’s hunting us, too. That gun may be our only card,” John answered before Marley could, and she crossed her arms. “But I said we’d look for something to help Dean, all right? I’ll check under every stone.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, his tone accepting but his expression defiant. “The Colt’s in the trunk. They dragged the car to a yard off of I-83.”

“All right. You’ve gotta clean out that trunk before some junk man sees what’s inside.”

“I already called Bobby. He’s like an hour out, he’s gonna tow the Impala back to his place.”

“All right. You and Marley go meet up with Bobby, you get that Colt, and you bring it back to me. And you watch out for hospital security,” John ordered sternly, one-handedly sliding his wallet back into his pocket.

“I think we’ve got it covered,” Marley reassured him. Just before they turned to leave, John stopped them, picking up a sheet of paper and scribbling a few ingredients on it, including Acacia and Oil of Abramelin, then handed it to Sam, telling him to have Bobby pick the listed items up for him. Sam read the paper questioningly, but John wrote off the ingredients as protection. A thought passed John’s mind, then. Marley’s eyes widened.

The ingredients weren’t for protection, quite the opposite, in fact. They were for a summoning. John was planning to bring Yellow-Eyes here? To shoot him once and for all? No, to save Dean. And sacrifice himself.

“Hey, Dad?” Sam’s voice broke through Marley’s mind, returning her attention to the present. “You know, the demon, he said he had plans for me, and ‘children’ like me” – he gestured to Marley at this – “Do you have any idea what he meant by that?”

“No, I don’t,” John answered, and Marley could spot the lie more easily than a wolf among sheep. Too much swirled through her mind. She wanted to yell at John, to interrogate him, to hit him, to beg him not to summon the demon, but before she even realized it had happened, she was exiting a car Sam had stolen and stepping foot on the sand at Bobby’s junkyard. It had been months since she’d seen this place and not a single thing had changed. Sure there were a few additions to the stacks of burnt and mangled vehicles, and the sign out front had a new coat of paint, but the air still hung hot and lazy, just like she knew it would.

Following Sam to the main area of the yard, which was an open dirt space adjacent to a three-walled garage/workshop, Marley remembered her short but wonderful time here. Bobby was like that uncle you’d always hear of someone having; the man who always had a project, always needed his hands on something mechanical, but had a crazy wealth of knowledge. That was Bobby Singer, hunter and tow man. Approaching the twisted black mess of what used to be the Impala, Marley nearly cringed, knowing Dean’s affection for the car might cause him to return to his coma if he saw this poor hunk of metal in its condition. Bobby appeared from around a stack of cars, oily rag in one hand, beer bottle in the other.

“Oh, man, Dean is gonna be pissed,” Sam gazed at the Impala and shook his head.

“Look, Sam,” Bobby announced as he approached, keeping his eyes on the car. “This… this just ain’t worth a tow. I say we empty the trunk, sell the rest for scrap.”

“Bobby Singer, you know as well as I do Dean would kill you if you did that,” Marley raised her voice, catching Bobby’s attention. Recognition brightened Singer’s eyes and he shouldered the rag then pulled in the woman for a hug. She laughed and they separated. Meanwhile, Sam’s expression had gone from surprise to confusion to a half-content smirk.

“Marley Walker! It’s been months, girl, how are you?” He asked in a gruff voice, accented with a mild southern twang.

“All things accounted for, I’m alright. Hanging in there, I suppose. Do you think the Impala could be fixed?” Marley got back to the topic on hand, sliding one hand onto her waist and letting the other dangle.

Bobby looked over the remains, scrutinizing, and replied, “There’s nothing to fix. The frame’s a pretzel, and the engine’s ruined. There’s barely any parts worth salvaging.”

“Listen to me, Bobby. If there’s only one working part, that’ll be enough for Dean. We’re not just going to give up on-“ Sam explained.

But Bobby finished for him, “Okay. You got it.” Marley suddenly remembered the note in Sam’s pocket, and asked Bobby if he could get the ingredients for him. She recited them without needing the paper, and Bobby frowned slightly with each new item she said. “What’s John want with this?”

“Protection from the demon?” Sam suggested, giving his father’s answer. The look Bobby gave him represented exactly what Marley knew already. “What?” asked Sam.

“Nothing, it’s just, um…” Bobby started and looked at Marley; she took the hint.

“Those are ingredients are for summoning demons, not protection against them.”

Not another word was said, but Bobby went inside his house to gather the ingredients and within minutes brought out a duffel bag. Sam took it silently and in an instant he and Marley were back in the car, speeding their way to the hospital. His face was pink, eyebrows angled inward, jaw set, a vein was fighting the skin on his neck. This isn’t going to be pretty, she knew, a headache already forming in the spot between her eyes. Another signature occurrence of the Winchester family was the likely imminent Sam/John argument; one Marley was all-too familiar with from not only John’s stories, but sifting through his memories as well.

Sam stalked to John’s room, and the woman following him contemplated whether or not she should try to stop him from exploding on his father. She could let it pan out, or play the part of the observer. Ultimately she decided on standing in the corner of the room while the two “talked” it out, so when they did reach John’s room, that’s exactly where she went. Standing silently, Marley watched Sam’s face twist into anger when his father was silent as they entered the room.

“You’re quiet,” John noted, somewhat ironically.

Sam, fuming, hurled the bag onto the bed, and nearly yelled, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That stuff from Bobby! You don’t use it to ward off a demon; you use it to summon one. You’re planning on bringing the demon here, aren’t you? Having some stupid macho showdown?”

“I have a plan, Sam.”

“That’s exactly my point! Dean is dying, and you have a plan!” Sam spat the word like it was poison. “You know what? You care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son!”

That spiked John’s anger, and when he spoke, Marley flinched. “Do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean.”

“How?” Sam solicited indignantly. “How is revenge going to help him? You’re not thinking about anybody but yourself. It’s the same selfish obsession!”

“You know, it’s funny; I thought it was your obsession, too! This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt. Now if you’d killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened.”

“It was possessing you, Dad, I would have killed you, too.”

“Yeah,” retorted John. “And your brother would be awake right now.”

“Go to Hell,” Sam barked.

“I should have never taken you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake. I knew I was wrong,” John continued, but before another word came out of his mouth, the glass of water on his bedside table suddenly flew toward the wall, shattering and sending water flooding to the floor beneath it. All three bodies in the room stared at the pool of liquid and glass shards, utterly confused.

Nurses and doctors began rushing by the door in the hallway.

“Something’s going on out there,” John spoke, and motioned for the other two to check it out. Monitors beeping, nonstop urgent chatter of the doctor and nurses in the room, and the sight of an attempted resuscitation met Sam and Marley as they stood in the doorway.

“All clear,” spoke the doctor. Tears formed in Sam’s eyes. “No,” he whispered.

“Still no pulse,” announced a nurse.

“Okay, let’s go again, 360.”

“Charging.”

Sam and Marley stood there, both in shock, unable to react. A voice, then, yelled something, Sam thought. The sound had been faint, but somehow precisely in his ear. A man? But what had the voice said?

“What did you say?” Sam asked the woman beside him, puzzled.

“I didn’t say anything,” Marley responded. Before they could inspect the noise, though a nurse unexpectedly shot up from her bent-over position.

“We have a pulse,” She declared. “We’re back into sinus rhythm.” A sigh of reprieve escaped Sam’s lips and he stepped back into the hallway, allowing the doctor and nurses to clear out of the room. Marley nodded her thanks to them as they exited.

Sam’s eyes traced the profile of Dean’s face, partially obscured by the breathing apparatus taped to his chin and running into his mouth. Then, suddenly, a breeze. Sam’s head whipped to his right, searching for the source of the motion. It made no logical sense, couldn’t have seemingly come from anywhere. It had seemed almost direct, as if somebody had blown air in his direction. The sensation felt familiar, but how? Sam glanced at Marley, who was still in the doorway, her gaze locked on Dean. He wondered what was going through her mind, what she knew that he didn’t. Just at that moment, Sam realized the golden opportunity that she was, even if she couldn’t see supernatural.

Marley Walker was, he decided, a true asset, and he would use that ability of hers to the extent of its capacity. It was a boon, and an indispensable one at that.

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter Six: A Promise

“We’re back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse announced. A breath Marley didn’t know she was holding escaped her lips and her heart returned to a reasonable pace. That was too close, she noted internally, entering further into Dean’s room while the hospital staff cleared out. Ignoring Sam’s piercing gaze, Marley plopped into the small chair beside the bed and rested her chin in her palm. That glass of water had moved on its own; more than that, it had flown across the room and shattered itself against the wall. Was it just a ghost? Was it Dean? No, it couldn’t have been, he was still very much alive. Maybe it was Sam’s psychic ability manifesting as telekinesis?

“Sam,” Marley spoke, looking at the man still in the doorway. He returned the gaze and nodded. “What moved that glass?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” he answered and Marley listened to his thoughts simultaneously, finding no solution she hadn’t already considered. That she couldn’t simply know what caused it confirmed something supernatural was behind the occurrence. “Did you feel anything? When the doctors got Dean’s pulse?”

“What do you mean, feel anything?” She questioned, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I mean it felt like, like Dean. Like he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don’t know if it’s my psychic thing or what, it… But do you think it’s even possible? I mean, do you think his spirit could be around?” He moved closer to her as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his brother all the while.

“Well, if there’s anything I’ve learned being a hunter, it’s to never rule anything out. So yeah, I suppose it’s possible.”

“Well there’s one way to find out,” Sam announced. Marley smirked.

“Do you think Ouija will work?”

“Like you said, never rule anything out.”


~*~


A half hour later, Sam returned, in his arms, a slightly crumpled brown paper bag. He shut the door behind him and nodded at Marley, who was sitting on the floor near the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” he began. “I think maybe you’re around. And if you are, don’t make fun of me for this but, um, well, there’s one way we can talk.” He pulled out a box from the bag, crumpling the bag and tossing it into the waste basket on the floor beside him. The box was labeled “Mystical Talking Board”, and Marley stifled a laugh, knowing how ridiculous Dean would think this was if he wasn’t being a vegetable. Sam sat a foot from Marley on the floor and pulled the board out of the box, placing the pointer on it. Both he and Marley placed the tips of their fingers on the pointer, ready for whatever may happen. “Dean? Dean, are you here?” Sam asked the air, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows pinching together.

Though neither of them moved a muscle, the pointer began sliding across the board, finally settling on the corner of the board inscribed “yes”. Marley looked up at Sam, an eyebrow raised.

“I have to be honest, I didn’t think this would work,” she admitted, focusing again on the board.

“Well, we’re not done yet,” replied Sam excitedly, a relieved laugh coloring his speech. “It’s good to hear from you, man. It hasn’t been the same without you, Dean.” The pointer began moving again, to the H, then stopping again at the U.

“Are you hunting something, Dean?” Marley asked, putting the pieces together. The pointer answered her by sliding to “yes”.

“It’s in the hospital, what you’re hunting? Do, do you know what it is?” Sam sputtered out the inquiries.

“What is it you’re hunting, Dean?” Marley simply questioned. R. Then an E, then an A, and a P. “A reaper. Dean, is it, is it after you?” The pointer slid to “yes” again. “Sam, if it’s here naturally, there’s no way to stop it.”

“There has to be a way,” Sam’s voice raised and he stood, pacing. “There’s gotta be a way. Dad will know what to do.” Sam left the room suddenly, leaving Marley to clean up the box and the board, sliding both under Dean’s bed and finally standing herself. She looked inside John’s room with her mind’s eye, seeing that the bed was empty, right as Sam walked in and noticed the same thing. Where is he? Her mind reacted immediately, finding the eldest Winchester in the boiler room, carrying a duffel bag. As if she was there in reality, she saw him set the bag down, pull out a box of chalk and begin to draw a symbol on the floor. A diamond in the middle, and a series of off-shooting lines ending with circles. Azazel. Without thinking, Marley rushed out of Dean’s room before Sam could find her, and began navigating her way to the boiler room, which was hardly a task at all with her ability.

She saw, mentally, Sam returning to Dean’s room with John’s journal, looking up “Reapers” and speaking out loud about them to what he must have believed was Dean’s observant spirit. Sam was occupied, and she calmed, knowing there would be no interference. Come on, John, just a few more seconds.

“It’s a good trade. You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean,” John was saying right as Marley ran into the room and stopped behind him.

“Oh, we have a guest,” the Yellow-Eyed Demon gazed at Marley, that ever-present grin of his making her stomach twist. She stepped out from behind John, hands balled into tight fists, her knuckles turning white, and she smiled.

“Hi, John. Do you mind telling me what the hell you think you’re doing?” She kept her eyes on the demon as she asked the question.

“You know exactly what I’m doing. And you can’t stop me,” his eyes were almost pleading; he hadn’t expected anybody to try to stop him. He thought he’d planned so well.

“Can we get on with this?” Yellow-Eyes faked a yawn. “I’ve got quite the schedule.”

“Can you bring back Dean? Yes or no?” John complied, the stern expression returning to his face.

“No,” replied Azazel. “But I know someone who can. It’s not a problem.”

“Good. Before I give you the gun, I’m going to want to make sure that Dean’s okay. With my own eyes.”

“Oh, John, I’m offended. Don’t you trust me?”

Slowly, John shook his head.

“Fine,” the demon’s grin receded.

“So, we have a deal?” John questioned. Marley’s nails dug into her palms. As much as she wanted to try to stop John, it wouldn’t help anything. He was going to do this deal, and it wasn’t going to end with him living.

“No, John, not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot.”

“With what?”

“There’s something else I want, as much as that gun. Maybe more.” He didn’t even need to say the word and both John and Marley knew exactly what he was hinting at. John nodded and the demon’s toothy smile showed itself one last time before he smoked out: a black cloud of demon ichor poured from his mouth and snaked into an air vent along the top edge of the wall. John’s head hung, he closed his eyes, and Marley stared at him, turning her body to face him.

“John,” she spoke quietly.

“Don’t,” it came out so weak, so pathetic. Nothing like the John Winchester she or anybody else knew. He had just sold his soul to save his son’s life. Marley could have swore at him until her throat ran dry, could have hit him, could have taken the Colt out of his hands and killed the demon herself, but she didn’t. Instead, she hugged him, wrapped her small arms tightly around his huge frame, not ready to lose the last person she considered family. She burrowed her face into his chest, and he returned the embrace.

“John. We can’t tell Sam and Dean,” she told him, her words slightly muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“You can’t tell them,” John said. “Ever. They can’t know you knew about this.” What was he talking about? “And Marley, you have to make me a promise. Please, this is a dying man’s last wish.” Despite the heavy words, he offered a sad smile, knowing she couldn’t refuse to help out a friend one last time.

“Of course, John, what is it?” She asked, and he backed up a step, holding her by the shoulders and staring intensely into her eyes.

“No matter what happens. No matter what. You look after my boys, okay? You keep them in line and go hunting with them, stay with them no matter what happens. Can you do that? I know it’s a lot to ask with those two.”

“John, I’ll do it. I promise. No matter what.”


~*~


“I can’t explain it. The edema’s vanished. The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you,” the doctor explained, dumbfounded, and shrugged.

“Thanks, doc,” Dean nodded and grinned, then as the doctor left, he turned his attention to Sam and Marley. “So you said a Reaper was after me?”

“Yeah,” Sam said simply.

“How’d I ditch it?”

“You got me. Dean, you really don’t remember anything?”

“No. Except this pit in my stomach. Sam, something’s wrong.”

Rap, rap, rap. All three in the room looked simultaneously to see John hovering in the doorway, eyes on Dean.

“Oh yeah, where were you two last night when Dean recovered? I looked for you everywhere,” questioned Sam, looking at Marley for the answer.

“Your dad was feeling well enough to get out of bed so I took him to Denny’s. Only 24-hour restaurant around here,” she explained, faking a laugh. It went unnoticed.

“Anyway,” John switched the subject, nodding to Dean. “How you feeling, dude?”

“Fine, I guess. I’m alive.”

“That’s what matters.”

Marley looked between the men in the room, Sam seemed perturbed, in his head a hundred thoughts. He was trying to understand the idea of his father going to dinner at two in the morning with this girl he’d just met. It scared Marley how smart he was, Sam had a suspicion that wasn’t the truth, but she kept a straight face. He wasn’t going to get this out of her.

“Look at us, Sam. Five minutes together and nobody’s butting heads,” John smiled and Sam’s expression shifted to match his father’s. John suddenly became serious, his tone more like that of its state in the boiler room the night before. “Sammy, I’ve made some mistakes. But I’ve always done the best I could. I just don’t want to fight anymore, okay?”

“Dad, are you alright?” Sam inquired gently.

“Yeah,” John shook it off. “I’m just a little tired. Hey, son, would you and Marley, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed and the two silently headed off toward the hospital cafeteria. Even out of the room, Sam was frowning, puzzled by his father’s suddenly solemn attitude.

“Pretty weird Dean’s recovery, don’t you think?” Marley asked him in hopes to get his mind off over-analyzing the situation.

“Yeah. How did that happen? I mean, you know everything, so how did that work?” He kept his gaze forward as they walked.

“Well,” Marley pondered. “Sometimes the body isn’t ready to fight something like that off the bat, so it conserves its defenses until a specific moment. Then it strikes. Dean got very lucky.” She had completely no idea what she was trying to say, but how was she supposed to explain how a reaper healed Dean’s edema?

“Yeah, okay.” The rest of the walk and getting the coffee was silent, and Marley took to knowing what she could about the things they passed. A notice board, which had been in that very same spot for fifteen years, three months, and sixteen days. Has carried 803 notices in the days of its service. Originally was a mint green color, but was painted a dark blue when the walls of this floor of the hospital were painted the sky blue they were today.

They passed an elderly man in a wheelchair, gaping emptily at the wall opposite him. Thomas Reed, born April 19th, 1920. He was dying of a cognitive degeneration, slowly eating everything in his brain until he became a complete vegetable. He outlived his wife, but had three children, and had seven grandchildren.

Marley shook her head, shaking the knowledge from it, seeing in her mind’s eye John retreating to his room, laying the Colt on the bedside table. Then he was blocked from her vision. The demon. No, no, not now. He and Sam were getting along. Why does it have to be so soon? Seconds later, she could see John’s body lying on the floor, motionless, still in his room. She shoved the coffee holder into Sam’s hands and bolted to John’s room.

“Marley, what’s wrong?” Sam yelled after her, taking the coffee cup in his hand and chasing after her. He caught up to her, found her standing with clenched fists in front of the closed door to John’s room. “Hey, I asked you what’s wrong. What is it?” She couldn’t respond, couldn’t look at him. The truth almost came bubbling to the surface but she turned to him, teary-eyed and lied.

“I don’t know.” But she did, she knew and she’d hold this burden with her. Before Sam could question her, she shoved open the door and saw with her own eyes John’s still form, sprawled on the cold linoleum floor. Sam dropped the coffee, its lid popped off as it hit the ground and the brown liquid splashed all over the hallway.

“Dad?!” Sam called, but it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t bring him back. “Dad!”

As hard as losing John was, watching his sons suffer over his death would be worse. She hadn’t known him like they had, despite her power, and her loss would never measure up to theirs. So she did the next best thing, and ran to the nurse’s station down the hallway, and told them exactly what was going on. Within seconds, doctors and nurses had John up on his hospital bed again, and were attempting resuscitation. It went on for minutes, but the time crawled by so slowly. Dean and Sam stood in the doorway, and Marley sat on the bench right outside the room, her face planted firmly in her palms, just listening to the chaos around her.

A nurse was trying to push the brothers out of the doorway, but they stood their ground.

“No, no, no, it’s our dad. It’s our dad! Come on!” Dean barked and the woman stood back.

“Okay, stop compressions,” the doctor ordered.

“Come on, come on,” whispered Dean, the tension in the air so thick it was tangible.

“Still no pulse,” noted the shorter nurse beside the doctor.

“Okay, that’s it everybody. I’ll call it. Time of death, 10:41 a.m.”

[DaenerysWinchester]

Chapter Seven: Goodbye and Hello


John’s sons placed his large, sheet-wrapped body on a makeshift cot set above a large pile of twigs and branches. Stepping back, Dean emptied a container of kerosene over the wood and set the scene aflame. With her hands in her pockets, Marley remained still, the brothers on either side of her, and she watched the blaze stony-faced; the flames danced in her emerald eyes. There were no words, nothing Marley could do to make up for this. Even as the Winchester brothers suffered beside her, all she could think to do was nothing.

“Before he- before he-,” the words formed a lump in Sam’s throat as he attempted to choke them out. “Did he say anything to you?” Dean’s eyebrows pinched together, feigning concentration, but Marley mentally heard the words as he thought them: ”If Sam gets too powerful, too ruthless, kill him, Dean. You’ll have to kill him.” But why kill Sam? What could he possibly do to deserve something like that? Wait- Marley halted her train of thought. If I’m one of the “special children” too, should I be wary of the same fate? John hadn’t mentioned her, but did that mean she was safe? “Anything?” Sam repeated.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Nothing.” Despite the outcome, and despite her fate, she’d promised John she would watch over Sam and Dean, and she would keep his deal with Yellow Eyes a secret. She had to, it was her purpose. That and to avenge her brother, of course, she wouldn’t rest until the demon had been served his just desserts. Marley could keep the secret, but could Dean not tell Sam what their father had said? Would the pressure get to him? She hoped more than anything that they wouldn’t ever have to act on those words, that Sam wouldn’t somehow become ruthless. The thought alone seemed ridiculous.

Without another word, they let the pyre die down, and they climbed into the Impala as the last embers faded into darkness. The drive to Bobby’s was quiet and stale; no words could justify their predicament. Arriving just after ten at night, they pulled in and quietly entered the house, finding Singer sitting asleep in front of the television, a beer bottle loosely hanging from his fingers. Sam and Dean had instantly gone to the kitchen to retrieve drinks of their own, but Marley turned off the TV, set the bottle on the coffee table, and removed Bobby’s dusty ball cap from his head. She unfolded the woolen quilt on the couch and draped it over his snoring torso before joining the brothers in the front room.

“What’s the game plan?” Marley questioned quietly, eyeing the brothers as they sipped their beers on separate chairs. Quiet ensued, until finally Sam wiped his mouth and spoke.

“I’m not sure, I hadn’t really thought it out yet,” he simply replied. Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, coaxing him to add to the conversation.

“I’m gonna fix my car,” Dean said, not bothering to muffle his voice, then roughly set the half-empty beer on a table near him and briskly exited the house. A little flustered, Marley turned to Sam.

“Did I say something?” She pondered aloud and Sam shook his head.

“No. I knew this would happen. Dean’s, uh,” a short, breathy laugh came from the younger Winchester. “He’s kinda an expert at shutting people out.” Marley nodded solemnly and returned her eyes to Sam’s.

“Sam, I’m sorry about John,” it was weak and simple but all she could muster. Everything had become such a mess so quickly; Marley had to keep reminding herself that John was really gone.

“Thanks,” Sam spoke in response, his brow furrowed and he stared at the half-full beer bottle in his hand. “Kinda makes me think if it was worth not pulling the trigger.” He sloshed another sip and sat silently, eyes flicking to meaningless points in front of him.

“Would you have been able to live with yourself if you had? Live with Dean’s disappointment, and the guilt of killing your own father?”

“I guess you’re right,” he conceded, knuckles tightening around the glass.

“Don’t ever regret saving someone when you had the chance; some of us aren’t so lucky,” murmured Marley, and before Sam could pry she stood and quietly took the stairs to the second floor.

The guest bedroom hadn’t changed a lick since she’d seen it last. Well, there may have been fewer cobwebs then, but it still felt like home. She flicked on the lamp which cast a warm amber glow over the room and, out of curiosity, opened the second drawer of the oak dresser it sat upon. Its contents beckoned a grin from Marley as she recognized shirts, her shirts, from when she stayed here months ago while John went on a hunt “too dangerous” for her to tag along on. She’d stayed only three days, helping Bobby maintain his endless webs of hunters via phone, and when she’d left she was in too much a hurry to remember her clothes.

Knock – knock – knock. Marley didn’t have to turn around to know it was Sam standing in the doorway; his hand fell to his side and his mouth twitched a little as if it couldn’t decide to smile or remain illegible. Before he could speak, she heard his thoughts and spoke for him.

“There are only two guest bedrooms and Dean will be upset if he doesn’t get a bed, and you don’t want him to trip over you if he comes into bed late. So, you want to sleep on the floor in here?” She rattled off his question and reasoning, a sheepish grin appeared in his features. Too tired to argue, she simply nodded and allowed Sam to enter. He was a little surprised at her immediate willingness to allow an almost-stranger to share her room; however, he saw the knife strapped to the interior of her boot and realized she probably wasn’t incapable of handling herself. “There are extra pillows and a comforter in the closet.”

“Thanks,” Sam uttered. “I would have taken the couch if it wasn’t occupied.”

“And then Dean would have ended up on the floor.”

Sam breathed a laugh and set up his makeshift bed on the hard wood floor. He began to undo his belt buckle and slide off his jeans before remembering Marley’s presence and hurriedly shuffled them back to hip-height. Arching an eyebrow at him, she slid off her jacket.

“If you’re shy, I can turn around while you change,” she suggested mockingly, throwing her top off, kicking her boots to the space under the bed. Sam huffed in response, his ego hurt, and proceeded to get undressed and lay atop the comforter. Like the gentleman he is, he looked away as Marley removed her pants. She slid onto the bed under the blanket after shutting off the lamp atop the dresser. Moonlight glistened through the room’s one window, illuminating a strip of the floor and doorway into the hall. All was silent except for the occasional rustling of Sam’s comforter and the ticking of the hand clock hanging above Marley’s head.

Tick..tick..tick..tick…

Neither fell asleep. Sam was thinking of Dean, of how he would push people away when he was hurting – it was a trait he learned from his father – and how fixing the Impala would become an obsession until it was mint again. Bored and exhausted, Marley took up this same train of thought, and she watched Dean, mentally, as he stood in the glare of the workshop’s floodlights; he wrote everything wrong with the Impala on a notepad – every dent, break, scrape, scratch, ding. He wrote and wrote then double-checked and wrote some more. Finally at three in the morning he came inside, snuck as quietly as he could upstairs and stealthily peeked through the opening to the guest bedroom. Inside, as he expected, were Sam and Marley, both fast asleep, light snores coming from the former. He retreated, not bothering to close the door, and stepped into Bobby’s bedroom.

Singer was still asleep downstairs and so the large bed, occupying the greater portion of the room, was free. The springs creaked as he flopped onto it, clothed, boots on and all. Not long after, his eyes closed as well, and the whole property was void of sound. Even the moon had retired, and the world was a shadow. It was peaceful moments like this, the ones where nobody was looking over their shoulder, when they didn’t feel responsible to save their own hides or save the world, that it felt like everything was really okay. All that they’d done to get to where they were felt like the right path to follow.


~*One Week Later*~


A mid-morning sun hung lazily in the sky, baking all it touched. Dean Winchester was underneath his black Chevrolet Impala, which could now be recognized as its original shape, and was fidgeting with something furiously, the exercise creating dark grey circles of sweat in his T-shirt. Dust and grease coated the denim of his jeans. Marley and Sam approached the scene, but Marley stopped at the shaded workbench and took a seat in an unfolded lawn chair.

“How’s the car coming along?” Sam questioned over the clanging of Dean’s work.

“Slow,” grunted Dean.

“Need any help?” A tubular hunk of metal fell to the ground next to Dean with a loud clang.

“What, you under a hood? I’ll pass.”

“I could help,” Marley offered somewhat sarcastically and as Dean stood up after wheeling himself out from under the vehicle, he gave her a funny look. “What?” she asked him indignantly.

“I think I’d like that less than handing Sammy the tools.”

“Oh, come on, Dean. I know everything, remember?”

“Right, right,” Dean pretended to concede. “Then what’s my car exactly?”

“Your car is a black 1967 Sport Sedan hardtop. It was built in Janesville, Wisconsin on April 24th, 1967. Your father was encouraged to buy it instead of a VW van, which was the car your mother wanted him to get. The car’s first owner was Sal Moriarty, a bible salesman. The combination to the lock on the weapons arsenal in the trunk is 11-02-83, which is a date we’re all familiar with. And the engine is a 427 seven liter with a Turbo-Jet V8,” she explained quickly and smiled to herself as utter bewilderment developed on Dean’s face.

Dean pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and began scrubbing the grease off the wrench in his left hand. Squinting his eyes in the sun’s glare, he grinned and joked, “Sammy, I think I’m in love.” Sam laughed breathily and arched his eyebrows at Marley. He pulled a small grey phone out of his jeans pocket and gestured it toward her.

“Oh, right. Sam and I found something we thought you’d be interested in,” she began, and Sam took over.

“It’s one of Dad’s old phones. I found it and tried to crack the voicemail code, but then asked Marley and she knew it so, yeah. Listen to this,” Sam pressed a button on the phone and held it out in front of him. The recording was a female voice and spoke: “John, it’s Ellen. Again. Look, don’t be stubborn; you know I can help you. Call me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, letting it sink in.

“That message is four months old,” Marley clarified.

“Dad saved that chick’s message for four months?” Dean seemed surprised. John wasn’t exactly known to be sentimental.

“Yeah. That chick is Ellen Harvelle, a family friend actually. She runs a saloon that’s most often frequented by hunters; I can show you the way if you want to pay her a visit,” she offered. They decided to leave within the hour, and while Dean went off to shower and change, Sam made sandwiches for himself, Marley, and Bobby. Standing and small-talking in the kitchen, they finished their lunch just when Dean pranced down the stairs in fresh clothes. Sam tossed him his sandwich and Bobby tossed Sam the keys to the vehicle they could drive to Ellen’s – much to Dean’s disappointment that vehicle turned out to be a boxy, old brown-on-black van.

Only six hours on the road and they made it to North Platte, Nebraska – Marley’s hometown, and she tried to ignore the familiar sights as much as she could until they were off the interstate and barreling toward Harvelle’s. They finally reached the building, swerving into the parking lot and stopping the junker with a jolt. A dust cloud formed from the reckless maneuver, and when it cleared the three could see the barn-like saloon. Over head hung a sign reading “Harvelle’s Roadhouse”, and if anything the place looked like an enormous fire hazard. However, this was the only part of Nebraska that Marley enjoyed; it was like a safe haven in a state that was a stain in her memory. She pushed back the memory, pushed back Cam. They’d already avenged his death, right? Then why did it feel so pungent, so needy, like a never-ending itch that you couldn’t quite reach?

She was snapped back to reality when Dean killed the engine and threw the keys to the mat at his feet. “This is humiliating,” he fumed. “I feel like a freaking soccer mom.”

“It’s the only car Bobby had running,” Sam justified, subtly enjoying Dean’s displeasure. All three exited the van and began checking their surroundings. Quickly remembering something, Marley headed back to the van, ignoring the brothers’ lockpicking of the front door. She ruffled through the small travel pack she had brought along and produced a necklace – it was simple, black string with a pendant made from a .45 casing. John had given it to her after he’d first introduced her to Ellen and the Roadhouse. He’d said “Next time you see here, give her this. She’ll know what it means.” Pretty mysterious at the time, Marley figured there was no better chance than now to see what he meant by it then.

Casually strolling into the Roadhouse, she was greeted by the odd sight of Jo Harvelle – Ellen’s daughter – holding a rifle to Dean’s back, and Ellen Harvelle holding a revolver to Sam’s head. She stifled a laugh and jogged into the space between the two Harvelles, holding her hands up. Ellen nearly turned the gun on Marley before a look of recognition passed her features.

“M-Marley? What are you doing here? Are these two with you?” Ellen stammered and returned the barrel of her gun between locks of hair at the base of Sam’s neck. Marley nodded and explained:

“Yes! Ellen, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re John’s sons.” A smile cracked Ellen’s lips and she let the gun down.

“Son of a b***h,” she said. Jo was a bit more hesitant to let her rifle down but did regardless. “Hey, I’m Ellen. And this is Jo.”

“Hey,” came from Jo, and Dean took a pace to his right, distancing himself from the short blonde.

“You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked and wiped his nose. Marley barked a laugh at the thought. She wished she’d been inside seconds ago to witness the event.

“Well, y’all have a seat now,” Ellen offered and went in the back shortly to retrieve a rag containing ice for Dean’s nose. Dean was seated upon a green barstool, Sam was on a chair at the table by the swinging doors to the back section of the saloon, but Marley remained standing.

When Ellen returned and Dean had the ice firmly pressed against his pulsating injury, he cleared his throat and spoke up, “You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?”

“Well, the demon, of course,” she replied as if the question was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“Was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed or something? I mean, who are you? How do you know about this?” Dean’s tone turned more heated.

Ellen explained, “Hey, I just run a saloon, but hunters have been known to pass through now and again, including your dad a long time ago. John was like family, once.”

“Ellen-,” Marley attempted to get a word in.

“Oh yeah?” Dean interrupted. “How come he’s never mentioned you before?”

“You’d have to ask him that,” Ellen replied. If only they could.

“So why exactly do we need your help?”

“Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine.”

“Ellen-,” Marley tried again.

“Don’t let the door smack your a** on the way out,” Ellen finished.

“Would you both just shut up for a minute?” Marley Walker raised her voice to a level she hadn’t used in months, startling everybody in the room – all eyes were on her. A warm blush covered most of her body, tingling in the tips of her fingers. She crossed her arms and allowed her thoughts to gather. She then presented the necklace before Ellen. “John said you’d know what it means.”

A look of fear and realization came over Ellen’s face, the .45 casing reflected in her chocolate eyes. Of course Marley knew what it meant – the necklace was a to-be present to her from her husband, Bill, who had died while on a job with John. It was the casing of the first round Ellen had fired when she and Bill had gone shooting together for the first time. Later that same evening, Bill had proposed to Ellen. The casing was a symbol of their life together, but now it was an apology – and a message.